[Author’s Note: I’ve been writing this piece off-and-on since June 2022. Its length and scope have rendered it a shockingly difficult story to convey, which is why I’ve broken it into three segments: this one, Something Borrowed, Something Blue, and a yet-unpublished wedding finale.]
Prologue
Once upon a time, I was a married senior at Colorado School of Mines.
If the experience sounds weird… that’s because it was.
For the most part, my classmates all knew my marital status. (Because, I’ll remind you, it was weird — and people love to talk.)
But not everyone knew. Combined with my erstwhile youthful coquettishness, this resulted in several cringey misunderstandings.
One specific incident comes to mind here. Toward the end of my senior year, I developed a decent “work friendship” with a classmate on the football team. But then he invited me to his birthday party, and I realized my mistake.
We’d been acquaintances for months; nevertheless, I’d apparently never even alluded to Taylor’s existence. I wished I could go back in time and rectify my error — for both of our sakes — but at this point, there was no casual way to announce, “Oh, by the way, I’m totally married, and you’ve just kept ignoring my wedding band.” Now, every path forward was guaranteed to be awkward.
So what did I do? Well, like a total coward, I simply dragged Taylor along with me to the birthday party.
Yes… it was awkward. But at least, by the end of the night, I had tactlessly remedied my sin of omission — and I had learned my lesson.
(Well, sort of.)
You might be wondering why I’m describing what a bad friend and wife I was in college.
It’s because… well, I sort of have a track record of waiting way too long to introduce important family members. Like, waaaaaaay too long. Like, so long that it becomes awkward for everyone — especially me.
In this case, I’ve failed to introduce… my younger brother.
Wait — you have a younger *brother*? Since when?
Since… well, for a while now. Like, at least six years. But not since birth — and that’s how things get a little murky.
When I ventured off to college, my parents’ household quickly became a haven for young men seeking guidance and stability. Not coincidentally, all of these men attended the Air Force Academy (from which both my parents matriculated). While not all of those men have “joined our family”… some of them have.
They attend family reunions. They have avuncular affection for my children. They’re even in family photos. Most of all, though, they simply live life at my parents’ house.
So what should I call these men? “Friends” isn’t deep enough, and “family friends” is clunky and imprecise.
Thus, we’ve eventually settled on “brothers”.
Admittedly, the word is not *quite* right. It suggests a lifelong shared history (which we don’t have) and a reciprocal legal connection (which, again, we don’t have). But the word accurately conveys a high level of family solidarity and social cohesion — so “brother” is the word that I’ll use in this post, because it’s the one that I use in real life.
The remainder of this story is about one of these adult-onset brothers: Dion, the one with whom I am closest in age and life stage.
I’ll state it plainly: I’m exceedingly embarrassed that I’ve never introduced Dion before now. He’s been mentioned on the periphery of several important stories — most notably, at the end of Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
In what way? Oh, nothing much — just that Dion is literally Orientalis’s godfather. And I’ve never even introduced him.
<insert face-palm emoji here.>
And Rhys’s godmother? Well, I’ve failed to introduce her, too.
So maybe I didn’t learn my lesson, after all.
Act I
I remember the first time I heard about Pippa. It was January 2019, and our clan had all gathered at snowy Fox Run Park for family photos. Our photographer, Brenna Skattebo, had maintained an upbeat demeanor throughout the frosty photoshoot — even despite our plethora of different photo combinations.
“Ok, first Taylor and Holly and Bo. Now get the uncles in there. Alright, now the dog too. And now just the uncles and the dog.”
On the way back to our cars, I asked Dion, “Are you coming home after this?”
He smiled a little and answered, “Nah, I’ve actually got a date.”
I smirked. “Oscar the Grouch finally agreed to go out with you?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re so funny,” Dion deadpanned. “And original, too. Your dad already used that joke today.”
“Well…” I stalled, but I couldn’t think of anything besides our standard family joke. “Yeah, I got nothing,” I finally concluded. “So what’s she like?”
Dion’s smile grew. “She’s really great. I think you’ll get to meet her sometime soon.”
My eyebrows shot up. Dion had never brought a girl home before. “Really?”
My brother grinned. “Yeah, I think that’s the way it’s going.”
Pippa started coming around my parents’ house soon after that, but only on the weekends. Since my Colorado Springs visits are normally mid-week, I don’t think I actually met Pippa until late May, just as my pregnancy with Australis began to show.
Dion called me out-of-the-blue one night and asked, “Hey, will you do Pippa’s hair and makeup for Ring Dance?”
“No, I just do makeup,” I responded. “You’ll need someone else to do her hair.”
“Ok, great! It’s this coming Friday, and we need to be ready by 3:30.”
“Did you ask my mom if she’d watch Bo?”
“Yeah, she said she’d help.”
“Uhhh….” I stalled. I had no real excuse to decline, but I was also nervous about doing Pippa’s makeup. It was a pretty intimate way to kick off our relationship. Plus, what if she didn’t like it? I mean, I’m a makeup enthusiast, but not a makeup professional.
Finally, though, I agreed, “Ok, yeah, I can make that work. I’ll need about an hour, so probably plan to have her hair done starting at 1pm?”
“Great, we’ll see you at one so you can do her hair and makeup!”
“What!?” I spluttered, “No, wait — I don’t do hair!”
But, I was drowned out by Dion as he shouted, “Bye sis! Looooove yoooooou! We’ll see you Friday at 1pm!”
And with that, our phone call was over.
“What was that about?” Taylor asked as I set down my phone.
“Oh, nothing,” I answered. “Just the imminent end of my relationship with Dion’s future wife.”
By the time Friday rolled around, though, I felt much more sanguine about doing Pippa’s hair. I just needed to give her curls, right? Basically foolproof.
But then I got to my parents’ house — late, because of traffic — and I discovered that I had forgotten all of my hair tools at home.
Not an auspicious start.
However, my attention quickly shifted to my first meeting with Pippa. Who was this mystery women who had stolen Dion’s heart?
I had known that she was an ice hockey goalie, so I had been picturing, like, a female Kronk: brash and burly. To put it mildly, however, Pippa was quite the opposite. Far from the bombastic jock I expected, she was mild-mannered and soft-spoken — though definitely not spineless. I was also surprised that she’s several inches shorter than I am — though it was nevertheless apparent that, while petite, she’s still powerful. My height would have been little advantage in a fight against those muscles.
Plus, I was trying to avoid a fight — physical or otherwise. This was perhaps to be my future sister-in-law, and I wanted to begin our relationship on good footing.
So, I attempted to be cordial — but not unreasonably cordial — and humorous — but not cloyingly humorous. I think Pippa was probably as nervous as I was, but it didn’t feel that way at the time. I felt like I was in a job interview — one for which I had forgotten the required implements.
Thankfully, my mother agreed to loan me her curling iron and hairspray — so while I missed my own tools, I was optimistic that I could still make things work.
See? Everything would be fine.
(Or, at least, that’s what I told myself.)
But then I met Pippa’s hair, and my heart quailed within me.
Dion had neglected to inform me that his girlfriend’s hair is practically uncurlable. So, instead of coming armed with an arsenal of texturizing products and curling irons, I had arrived empty-handed and clueless.
I’ll omit most of my foibles here and instead cut to the chase: I ended up spraying each segment of Pippa’s hair before, during, and after curling it — and even then, I wasn’t sure that the curls would stay.
I kept murmuring things like, “Oh, I’m sure it will curl better this time,” and “Well, um, no one will notice that. Probably.”
Pippa was not immune to my tense uncertainty. At one point, she prompted, “So… am I going to have to wear a wig to Ring Dance?”
Clearly, things were going well. Thus, I decided that this was the perfect opportunity to test Pippa’s sense of humor. I squared my shoulders and answered, “No, you won’t have to wear a wig. Plenty of women choose to rock the bald look.”
Pippa laughed nervously in response, and I shed a silent, anxious tear.
Finally — finally — I finished curling the last strands of hair, then completed the ‘do with a teased pouf on top. I stepped back and heaved out a relieved sigh. Her hair didn’t look perfect — but it looked decent, at least.
The hairstyling had taken much, much longer than I had estimated. By now, it was clear that Dion and Pippa wouldn’t be attending their pre-Ring-Dance photo shoot. I was very apologetic — but thankfully, they didn’t seem overly upset.
“Photos are a little too Prom-y for me, anyway,” Dion muttered.
I stifled a laugh and picked up my makeup bag. I felt a big grin steal over my face, and I told Pippa, “Alright — now for the good part.”
She gave me a surprised look. “Wow, now there’s the confidence I’ve been hoping for all afternoon!”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Well, if your boyfriend had actually listened to me, he would have told you that I’m a makeup girl, not a hair girl. So what do you want for your face?”
Pippa balked. “Uh… I mean, I don’t know. I guess just whatever.”
“Awesome,” I beamed. “I’m great at ‘whatever’.”
I chattered happily at Pippa as we sprinted through her makeup application. In this task, at least, I had tons of practice — because the previous summer, I had earnestly considered becoming a makeup artist. I had coerced a handful of friends into being my guinea pigs, and I even got the chance to do an old friend’s wedding makeup, which was an incredible opportunity.
But, that wedding work really highlighted my lack of industry experience. While the bride’s makeup turned out well, my timing hadn’t. I had neglected to nail down how long the process would take — so by the time I completed her finishing touches, she had to sprint directly to her first look.
Thus, though I had some inherent affinity for makeup artistry, it was clear that I had a long way to go before I could truly market myself as a “makeup artist” — with all the skills, tools, and availability that that title entails. However, without consistent childcare for Borealis, I simply couldn’t put in the time and effort necessary to become a true professional: just an enthusiast.
And so, my makeup dreams went dormant — but I never fully abandoned them.
Indeed, as I did Pippa’s makeup, I was shocked by how quickly my slumbering aspirations revived. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face at the rare opportunity to do something I love. In what felt like no time, I was releasing her to get dressed for the evening.
She returned in a stunning black evening gown, and Dion donned his Academy mess dress. I ushered them outside for photos — heavily directed by me, of course. Their couple posing needed some assistance — but what *didn’t* need assistance was the love apparent between them. I was so happy to see my brother so happy.
Finally, it was time to send the couple back to the Academy — much later than expected, but not technically “late”. They had missed their group photos, but they were on-time for all the official Ring Dance activities.
I sagged with relief as their car pulled away. I hadn’t realized that I was still so anxious: that I would ruin Ring Dance, that I would mess up Pippa’s hair or makeup, or that I would irreparably mar my relationship with her.
Admittedly, the day not gone exactly according to plan. I was still embarrassed at having been so scatterbrained — forgetting my tools and overestimating my speed. At least I had delivered satisfactory results in the end.
But, best of all… I suspected that, given time, Pippa and I could actually become friends.
Act II
Time passed. Dion and Pippa began their senior year in August 2019, and Australis arrived in November. Graduation approached, and my family waited to see what Dion and Pippa would do — because it seemed clear at this point that they were headed for marriage.
Except, then the whole world shut down indefinitely, which I imagine put a damper on Dion’s proposal plans. Whatever the reason, when their class was commissioned in April 2020, we celebrated with pandemic-themed family photos — not engagement ones.
You can’t tell in the black-and-white shot, but we were all wearing blue — my idea, of course. Pippa had taken the directive at face-value and donned a blue Boston Red Sox t-shirt. I immediately sent her back inside to change into one of my extra Piko tunics.
Shortly thereafter, Dion and Pippa were sent off to their respective Air Force Bases: Dion in Oklahoma, and Pippa in Kansas.
It was hard having them gone, and I really missed my brother. (I missed Pippa too, but I still didn’t know her super well; you know, just well enough to order her around when it came to hair, makeup, and clothing.)
Pippa and Dion obviously missed Colorado [and our family], too. They visited a few times over the following months — and each time, we were all on tenterhooks. Would this be the time that Dion made his move?
Finally, the moment arrived. It was November 2020, and my brother was finally ready to propose!
He wanted to do it in the mountains — but he also wanted pictures, which meant that someone else had to be there… and that someone would be me. (And Taylor, and Bo, and Aza, and my mother, and my sister. It was kind of a whole thing.)
Oh, and he also wanted help planning the proposal.
If I were a different person, I might have said something like this: Dion, just look within yourself and come up with an idea that is authentic to your love for Pippa and your joint affection for Colorado. I know she’ll be thrilled no matter what you choose!
But, I’m *not* a different person — so instead, I said: We’re already going to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo on Saturday. Just wait until we get to the overlook, and then I’ll demand to take a photo of you two. She knows I’m bossy, so she won’t suspect a thing!
And, indeed, Pippa didn’t suspect anything — even when, Saturday morning, I sent her back downstairs to change into a nicer outfit before we went to the zoo.
Dion‘s proposal was beautiful. We all teared up at the devotion apparent between the pair. My family was thrilled to bear witness to such a special moment — although I, for one, wished that I could have a do-over.
You see, I had realized halfway through the video that I had chosen the wrong camera orientation: portrait, instead of landscape. So, when Dion dropped to one knee, he and Pippa were suddenly cramped in the frame.
Hindsight — unlike my videography — is crystal clear. I should have just taken a step back to widen the camera angle. Instead, I flipped the camera orientation midway through filming.
My miscalculation resulted in a bizarre spin midway through the video that, to date, we have been unable to rectify. I was embarrassed to the point of tears — although, thankfully, Dion and Pippa graciously brushed off my error as though it were nothing.
Needless to say, I insisted on taking more photos after the actual proposal. These, thankfully, went more according to plan.
My filming faux pas still stung fiercely. Thus, when I posted the above picture on Instagram, I captioned it like this:
Congratulations to my “brother” and future sister-in-law! Thanks for trusting me to get the shot, although I’m definitely going to hire a real photographer when I plan your wedding. 😉
It felt like the logical joke to make. I had been part of Ring Dance; I had organized family photos; I had even helped plan this proposal. Why wouldn’t I be part of the wedding process?
Oh, yeah — because I wasn’t a wedding planner.
(Yet.)
That night, the four of us went to dinner — Dion, Pippa, Taylor, and me. We shared a round of limoncello, which disproportionately affected Pippa — so when I peppered the couple with wedding questions, it was mostly my brother who answered.
“When are you thinking for a wedding date?” I asked.
“Maybe Summer 2022?” he answered. “We want a wedding in the mountains, so June or July would be nice.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I imagine that you guys want a really ‘Colorado’ wedding, right?”
Pippa blithely chimed in, “Yes, Colorado is my favorite.”
“Get that girl more limoncello,” I deadpanned.
Pippa smiled widely, then adjusted the sleeve of her borrowed outfit. Dion had asked that I bring a fancy dress for her to wear, since he hadn’t wanted to telegraph his proposal plans. [Note: He ended up liking the dress so much that my loan became a gift, instead.]
Dion grinned at his fiancée, then added, “Also, a lot of our family is Covid-conscious, so we kinda wanna wait until all the restrictions have died down.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point,” I acknowledged. “Although, having a pandemic wedding saves money because you don’t have to invite everyone.”
“Huh?”
I laughed. “Like, the people whom you don’t want to invite, but you would feel obligated to invite. You just say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, we’re keeping our wedding small because of Covid! I know that we work together, but we simply don’t have available spots.’ And then you don’t have to pay for their meal.”
Dion stroked the stubble on his chin. “Hmm… that’s an interesting thought.”
Taylor: <grunts in amusement>
I rattled through several other important questions. Guest count? Budget? General theme / locational desires?
Dion mentioned Piney River Ranch in response to that last question.
I pulled up their website, which at the time, still had pricing publicly available. My eyebrows shot up. “Uh — are you good with a weekday wedding?”
“Not really,” Dion answered.
“Then I recommend choosing a different venue.”
[Note: I was thinking of this infographic, which suggests how to allocate a wedding budget for each typical expenditure. Unfortunately, Piney River Ranch didn’t fit into that suggested allocation — like, even a little.]
Pippa leaned across the table. “Ooh, can I see?”
I swatted her hand away. “No, because then you’ll end up falling in love with something you can’t afford.”
Taylor: <grunts dramatically> “Wifey, they just got engaged. Let them enjoy it for at least a night before you roll in with the wedding stuff. You’ve got, like, a year to bug them about their plans.”
I snorted. “Almost two years. We’ve got time on time.”
Taylor: <grunts insistently>
I rolled my eyes. “Ok, fine, I’ll drop it for now. But I’m gonna start looking at venues for you guys — in your price range, and with some sort of mountainous, Colorado-esque vibe.”
Pippa eyed me curiously. “Why’re you asking all these questions?”
“Just to bother you, Pippa,” I retorted sarcastically. Then, more seriously, I continued, “I… just really love weddings. I think I’m still bitter that I didn’t get to plan my own, and so I’m always trying to plan everyone else’s.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I blew out a long sigh, and Taylor squeezed my hand. “Um… it wasn’t a great time in our lives. Junior year ChemE is pretty hard already, but then we were also flying back and forth to Minnesota because Taylor’s mom was dying. Plus, I was still working a couple jobs, so I barely had enough time to shower, let alone plan a wedding.”
Dion gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Sis.”
I shook out of my reverie. “Yeah, I mean, it sucked. But at least our wedding turned out amazing! We loved our planner. She did an awesome job — much better than I could’ve at the time.”
“Well,” Pippa said slowly. “I hope some of that awesomeness rubbed off on you.”
I giggled. “Oh yeah, I’m the quintessential creative-slash-admin.”
“Says the engineer,” Dion muttered.
I clicked my tongue. “Fine, then. You can get some non-engineer to find you a venue, and I’ll just mind my own business.”
Ha! As if I could mind my own business.
I could barely resist the lure of finding the *perfect* venue for Pippa and Dion. I didn’t even care if anyone else knew that I had found them the right venue — just so long as *I* knew that I had adeptly played matchmaker.
But, the following months were busy with Thanksgiving and Christmas — plus everything that comes along with having two children and a blog.
I tabled my wedding planning aspirations to write and post Articulate Savages and the Parents Who Raise Them — which galled me, because I had futilely hoped to write Aza’s birth story that month instead.
Frustrated and overwhelmed, I decided to stop writing for this blog altogether. I was so discouraged by the amount of time I spent crafting stories that almost no one would end up reading, and I felt swamped by responsibility for my two toddlers, MOPS email stuff, and the endless drudgery of housework.
Thus, I began writing Death by a Thousand Carrots with the intention of announcing my decision to stop writing — but then Taylor and my mother talked me off the ledge, and that story ended up going in a very different direction instead.
Just after Christmas, we found out that we were pregnant with Occidentalis. We shared our baby news with Dion and Pippa when they came out to Colorado in the first week of January, and they were over the moon for us. I smiled at the thought that Occi would be walking by the time their wedding rolled around in Summer 2022. It was still a secret, but we planned to ask them to be his godparents.
The couple’s trip was mostly spent skiing, but they still carved out time to see one venue — which they immediately nixed.
This, of course, reminded me that I hadn’t yet followed through on my promise/threat to find them a venue. Now, though, with the holidays past and Occidentalis finally on his way, I was once again able to direct my attention to Dion and Pippa’s wedding.
So, in the following week, I began sifting through dozens of Colorado venue options. However, I quickly realized that I needed to ask a few more follow-up questions before I could draft a short list for them. After some scheduling hurdles, we finally planned a three-way call for the evening of January 20.
Our conversation went well: basically just a more in-depth version of our engagement dinner discussion. (But better, because Taylor wasn’t nagging me to stop.) I reconfirmed their budget, guest count, theme, etc.
So, by the time we hung up, I had a pretty good sense of the couple’s ideal venue — and I even knew of several options that might fit their desires. I was feeling like a pretty capable sister-slash-amateur-wedding-helper.
But then my mom asked, “What dates are they thinking?” — and I was suddenly much less self-satisfied.
It seems ridiculous now, but I hadn’t even thought to ask. I had just assumed that they were still thinking Summer 2022 — and this far out, I knew that their chosen venue would have availability sometime in those months.
Nevertheless, I called my brother back and repeated my mother’s question.
“Oh, yeah….” he started. “We were actually thinking May.”
“Oh, so like a month sooner,” I answered. “That’s awesome — I love spring weddings.”
“Uh… actually, May 2021.”
I was temporarily struck dumb. Finally, I spluttered. “Like, four months from now!?”
“Well… we realized that our wedding needs to happen before I go off to pilot training. We can’t plan it for Summer 2022 because we have no idea when I’ll be available. So it has to be either before or after pilot training, and we don’t want to wait two whole years.”
I blew out a breath. I agreed with his logic, but I still didn’t like the logistics. Finally, I said, “Well, four months is pretty fast, but I think it’s possible.”
“Ok, good. Oh, and we were actually thinking, like, May 1st.”
I scoffed. “Alright, so like three months from now.”
“Uh… yeah. Do you think we can make that happen?”
We. As in, the couple… and me. Suddenly, all of my joking didn’t seem very joke-y anymore.
“You want me to plan your wedding?” I clarified.
“Yes. If you’re still willing to help, we’d really, really appreciate it.”
Here was the pivotal moment. Without a planner, Dion and Pippa’s wedding would surely flounder. Three months is simply not enough time to learn, de novo, all the tasks that must take place to bring a wedding to life. They needed someone with a head start in the wedding world — but the cost of a true wedding professional would eat up their budget. (Speaking from personal experience.)
But maybe I could fill that role, instead? Maybe all they needed was a highly interested amateur…?
And so, in the end, it was actually really easy to become a wedding planner. My brother needed one; I wanted to become one.
After a pause, I answered, “Yes. I will plan your wedding.”
So what happened next? Did I totally botch Dion and Pippa’s wedding? Did Pippa and I actually become friends? Or did my brother and I become estranged, instead?
Stay tuned to find out!